What Are You Doing Now?
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: On an unusually quite night at the Kinney residence, Brian just cannot get his mojo back without thinking about Sunshine... again. One-Shot- largely canon, going through 3x01.


**WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOW?**

**(NOTES: Companion one-shot to "A Taste Of Rejection". Will narrate some of episodes 3x01 and 3x02.)**

* * *

The loft was so quiet these nights. Even when he was plunging into some new fuck he'd found at Babylon, he could hear a deafening silence over his ragged gasps. Though he knew that there really had to be no reason for him even noticing the change, that this was his home, and any noise level was acceptable, it was still bugging him everywhere he went. He would go to his fridge to pull out a beer, and hear himself chugging the liquid down, he would lie back in bed with a cigarette and hear nothing but his own deep inhalations, he would go for a shower and still be able to hear his clock ticking outside over the sound of the water.

Well, at least he wasn't in any danger of going deaf…

So what if there was no noise? Certainly suited him better as a working man- on the plus side, in fact, he had been able to spend quite a few productive nights sourcing new materials for his latest account. That was definitely a plus. And… well, there were other good reasons for him to be stewing in silence, he just couldn't be bothered to recall them right now.

Tonight was one of those rare occasions where he had not gone out in search of a new ass to violate. He would never admit it to anyone, not least his long list of past fucks, that even the Sex God required a rest from time to time. Had to keep his rod of love in shape, and all that. So any unwelcome visitor would have found Brian leaning out of his large windows, smoking, and strands of his hair hanging over his forehead like a curtain. A silky breeze wafted in and out of his loft, as if unsure of where to linger. Outside, city lights twinkled, even approaching midnight. They were quite… picturesque, really…

God, was he really admiring city lights? At his age? Still, that didn't make him move from his position, or at least find something else to admire. The cigarette burned to a stub, orange glow reduced to smoke; he didn't bother lighting another. Cars rushed past below, a brief blur of colour against the street lamps, people drifted across in two's threes- always with someone, he noted. Were they going home? Or to the club for a night of sweat, music and fucking? Whichever it was, there would always be someone there.

Unlike for him.

Not that it mattered, of course. He was a one-man machine, had lived alone for years. There was nothing wrong with it. The only person anyone could rely on was themselves at the end of the day, so it was only an advantage he was so used to keeping to himself. Well- that wasn't entirely true; he still hung out with the guys, didn't he? Michael was always up for some hard clubbing till 1 in the morning, spurred on by some beautiful E, wasn't he?

Brian bit his lip, stared below him into the darkness. Of course, that was no longer the case. Mikey was in a relationship now- and Christ, it was pretty serious. Where before he could simply flash his friend a smile and they would dance all night, now it took careful persuasion to even get him to consider the idea. If such tactics failed, then Brian felt forced to use manipulation. Come to think of it, he was rather unfair- the lad only wanted to spend some time with his wife, the Professor… He laughed a little under his breath. Matrimonial bliss- what a farce. Thank God he would never fall prey to any such charms, sensible, independent man that he was.

If some part of him wanted to admit that he sometimes longed for company, he pretended not to notice it. He never begged for anything; if he was a little domineering with Mikey, it was because he was… showing who was in charge, not bored out of his mind and in need of a friend.

Of course, there were always the Munchers; they made for entertaining company. Well, to clarify, he meant the blonde half, not her bitchy husband. He would never object to a walk in the park with Lindsay and Gus. Every old man had to make time for their sonny boy, after all. And being friends with the mother certainly helped. He would just stroll alongside, tuning into her excited chatter about anything and everything… Quite adorable, really.

Emmett was tolerable. Alright, that was a lie; he did like Emmett… from time to time. He was one step above Theodore. (Actually, quite a big step…) Together, though, they made him want to turn straight. That episode in the Diner, feeding each other- yuck! Made him think that maybe the Bible had a point. (Then he saw this muscled Adonis walk past, and his hasty religious convictions were thrown under the bus again). Still, at the end of the day, Emmett had Ted had Emmett. Lindsay had Melanie… etcetera. And then there was Brian.

As he kept insisting, however, his lifestyle was most definitely not a problem.

Then there was… Justin, who now had Ethan. Brian covered up a grimace with a contemptuous snort. The dreamy-eyed artist with an equally dreamy-eyed violinist. A perfect match. He commended them, even. On a serious note, he hoped it was good for Sunshine, hoped he found what he had not found from himself.

Brian's stare grew pensive, his head slumped further against his arms. Not because he was… shall we say, depressed- just tired. Nothing to do with Justin at all. Nothing even to do with the way he was dumped. He was over that now. (Or getting there, a tiny voice whispered).

So why the issue wouldn't leave his mind was a mystery.

But for fuck's sake, he wasn't some whiny heterosexual woman pining after her crush, he was a grown Homo who went through men like women through clothes. He could think about Justin without sinking into some kind of dejected stupor! In fact, why did he even need to think about the boy when he was far away, wrapped around Paganini Junior, fucking his brains out? They weren't together anymore; nothing Justin did was any of his concern.

"Pull yourself together, Kinney," he murmured, staring down at nothing in particular.

And still he kept thinking about him. Was Sunshine still a bottom in this new love affair of his? Or was he so emboldened by his time with the Fuck Master that he was willing to fill the sacred role of top? Brian managed a weak smile whilst weighing the options. Nah, Sunshine was most probably still a steady bottom- although… there had been that time when Justin somehow managed to persuade said Fuck Master to… get fucked. How on earth had he agreed? Brian shook his head, to clear the vision, but did not have enough willpower- not when he could almost transport himself back to that night…

He had been apprehensive, hesitant, even. (God, nobody could to hear about this). When was the last time he was a bottom? He couldn't remember. It was always the power, domination, control of a top that attracted a narcissistic man such as himself. There was unrivalled satisfaction in thrusting hard and deep into an ass and watching the recipient moan and writhe in pleasure… knowing that he and he alone was the one who put that ecstatic smile on their face. It took a brawny man with skill and strong hips to become the much coveted top in the coupling. Anyone could be a bottom; but he wasn't just anyone.

Except when Sunshine had leaned in to kiss him twice- gently, yet that was enough persuasion; Brian had finally rolled over, convinced. What ensued was… not bad. Brian bit his lips harder, trying not to dwell too much on his admiration for Sunshine's… skills in top- still not as good as him, but good enough to last the better part of two hours. Fuck, was he tired after that! Not to mention the sore, sore ass. Such beautiful pain—

But he was going off topic. And if he didn't stop gazing out into space, reminiscing about a twink who had left him for someone whose only claim to fame was squeaky, fast violin music. He cursed under his breath, trying once more to shake away that particular element to the demise of their arrangement. Paganini Junior- he really should have seen it all coming beforehand, from the moment Justin came back from a violin recital (or cat-strangling torture, as he considered it), he was gushing about this new boy and how magical his fingers were etcetera, etcetera. But no, he hadn't said anything about it, they had continued to fuck hard until Justin started becoming more distant, unhappy, dissatisfied…

Fuck, was he really going to go through this again? Enough already! Enough of Justin; what part of "he dumped your ass" was so difficult to understand?

(Or difficult to accept?)

"I need to go to bed… And sleep in it, for once." Yes, alone.

Not a muscle twitched inside his body.

After a few moments of forcing himself to consider what he would be working on tomorrow morning at work, Brian somehow managed to bring the subject of his thoughts back to Justin- was it something someone had said at work, or a song he knew the twink liked, or one of the places they had fucked… He couldn't recall it now, but it set the wheels of thought going in his brain again.

A few passing questions couldn't hurt, surely? Like what might Justin be doing at this moment? Was he committing all kinds of perversions with the Violinist? Was he drawing… or doing his homework like a good boy? Did Sunshine ever think about the Fuck Master… from time to time? Did he compare him, Brian, to his new boyfriend? No kidding, obviously Justin liked Ethan better than him. But that was fine- inevitable, even. He was never boyfriend material in the first place- and besides, they had never been in a relationship in the first place. It was an… arrangement, with most of the rules being set by Justin-

"-who ironically broke them..."

Not that he cared. No, he had had it coming for some time. Refusing to have a stupid picnic on the floor, who would have thought that was a crime? Crazy. He bet Sunshine was eating to his heart's content on Ethan's floor, happy he had finally found a boyfriend who appreciated the simple joys of crackers, and wine, or whatever the hell it was the boy liked to scoff. How sweet. Yes, they were probably having a little romantic dinner, using money that could be better spent buying Ethan a set of respectable clothes. And then they would stare into each other's eyes and exchange disgusting romantic cliché's…

Then Paganini Junior would play some God-awful dreary tune on the screech box- no, sorry- violin. And Sunshine would listen, perhaps even draw it… until they came closer together and—

"-Fuck!" Brian shook his head harder, fingers drumming the window-sill impatiently.

This was getting to be like that time when he came in on Justin and Michael asleep in the same bed- he had spent the rest of his rage-filled night and morning speculating about what they had been up to whilst pretending to read the morning paper. (Amazing how a newspaper could hide the true human emotions…) God, he had been so angry that night- torn around his loft, ripping, tearing, cussing, scrunching… Then he'd pulled out his member and let loose a magnificent golden stream all over Justin's hard work. The guilt after Debbie's pep-talk was about as heavy as his continual hangovers.

Stop thinking about the guy already!

But in the silence of his loft, with only him and his arrogance and lies as witness, he knew that was not going to happen.

Finally, he drew back from the window, pulled it shut, drew the curtains. Lazy fingers flicked the switches of all his lampshades, casting him into darkness one by one. He contemplated another cigarette, but thought better of it, instead dragging himself to bed. When had he become so tired all of a sudden these days? Didn't Rage always have the strength to fuck 100 guys? (Shit- that was the line he used at the party… where he got dumped, and – no, best not think about it).

Something inside him urged him to take an aimless wander around his apartment, as if being shown around for the first time. He noted the Italian furniture, high-end appliances, pairs of jeans, sex toys, drugs and cigarettes scattered on every single flat surface… Everything familiar in his world, but being seen again in a new light.

He leaned down to pick a shirt off the floor. It was the one he'd ordered Justin to take off about a year ago when the boy had first moved in. Yes, he could see it now, stumbling back from work to find that annoying seventeen year old listening to Moby (Jesus Christ), and dancing along stupidly. Did time really fly that fast?

Or maybe he should just fucking forget that time and ask himself why he still had an out of season Armani shirt…

He walked over to the desk where that special computer he'd bought after the bashing. Boy might need it, now he was starting a new semester. He'd already arranged the new tuition payment, so it was only right he pack the thing and somehow get Justin to pick it up later. Wrapping it up gave him something to do, took his mind off things. All too soon, it was done, and he was left staring blankly at the box as though he had just sealed away his vital organs.

(Christ, when did he get so melodramatic? He'd just packed a fucking computer!)

He strode over to the kitchen, glanced over at a bottle of water lying on a counter top. Now that first scene washed over him; drinking and tipping a load over his head, shaking it off and watching Justin stare... in wonder. "Nice kitchen," he'd stammered- Brian tried not to smile- tried so hard he'd yanked the bottle off the counter in frustration, tipped its contents down the sink and squashed the plastic out of shape. Out of sight, out of mind.

Would Sunshine ever tell Ethan about the way they'd made love? Would he admit that he lost his virginity to THE Brian Kinney… Or would it just remain a secret he would never revisit from the man who refused to give him what he wanted?

Cursing, he spun back to his living room, determined to head for bed. But then a pile of sheets by his art design books caught his eye. They shouldn't have, really, but these were no ordinary sheets- this was inkjet paper. And he certainly wasn't the one who had used that…

He swallowed, gazing down at several scenes from "Rage". What a mocking coincidence that he hadn't managed to scrunch up the most lascivious products of Justin's fertile imagination? The first sheet had Rage deep-throating, and from JT's facial expression, they were both loving it. The next sheet… a rim job that left JT gasping for air, the next sheet: anal penetration so deep it looked as though it might split JT's wonderfully formed ass in two…

With a hiss, he ripped all three sheets at once, shoved them into the waste-paper basket under his table.

That was it- enough. He was a sad wreck, a fucking pathetic mess when alone. It couldn't last. Tomorrow night, he was going down to Babylon with an uncharacteristically generous offer; two tasty tricks for a night of screaming pleasure. He'd start now if he wasn't so damn exhausted. Fucking was always the solution. Honest and efficient, just like he'd told Justin.

On that note, Brian Kinney finally dropped off to sleep.

**FINIS**


End file.
